Jaded
by Neocolai
Summary: Peter discovers the memorials for those killed in the Apocalypse, and Charles is forced to mediate between two self-righteous parents. (14th in the Protection Series)
1. Chapter 1

**This was the longest and most exhausting oneshot I have ever written. (I actually had to divide it into two parts.) Apologies ahead of time for any plot holes; there was a lot of ground to cover. Feel free to point out any confusion/missing information and I will get back to you in a private message.**

 **(Disclaimer: Neocolai does not own X-Men or anything related to the franchise.)**

* * *

Training. Social skills. Communication. Teamwork. Or in other words, not listening to his music or even running at _partial_ speed for three hours while Ororo toured New York City. There was still enough upheaval after Apocalypse for Charles to enforce one rule.

No mutants traveled alone.

Peter didn't count – he could bop the president on the nose and they wouldn't even catch it on camera. Storm, on the other hand, was slower than Magneto catching on to hints. (Peter was just shy of begging Charles for a dog – at least the professor could send in a request form for him, and maybe then Dadneto would get the point.)

Sludging through New York on a muggy afternoon was not his idea of fun. They had to _walk_ to every corner, and even though he had offered twenty times (really, it wouldn't be any bother to him and he was pretty sure girls liked piggy-back rides), Storm refused to be carried.

Charles had already given him a dark, _you'll be in so much trouble if you leave her behind_ lecture, and he wasn't eager for the sequel, but three hours of pointless wandering without any distraction was just plain mean. The others were probably laughing at him right now, like it was a funny joke that Quicksilver was meandering around town helping a girl with her shopping.

Life sucked.

"Peter, look at this," Ororo said, beckoning him to a store window. She pointed to a blue hoodie spattered with streaks of color. "Why would anyone buy this? It looks like a child's painting."

"Yeah, people dig that stuff." Peter shrugged. He almost asked her, ' _Have you been talking with my dad? – Cause that's exactly something he would say._ '

Sometimes it was really hard teaching Magneto how to have fun.

"Kurt said Americans have strange souvenirs," Ororo said as she held up a miniature taxi cab. "I like these, though."

"Yeah, they're… pretty common…." He really wanted the blocks to be shorter. Pizza parlors were just too far away via slow time.

"What about you, Peter? Nothing catches your interest?"

"Nah, I'm just…." _Hungry hungry hungry – wait._

He saw the table lined with picture frames and wilted flowers just as Ororo murmured, "What do you suppose that's for?"

"I dunno." Leading the way, Peter looped through the crowds, wishing Storm would go _just a little faster_. He might have sped a little. Just a tad. She was right behind him, anyways.

When he reached the table, time stopped moving entirely.

 _No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…_

"Peter?" Storm's hand brushed his arm before she stiffened.

He wondered if she looked sick.

He wondered when he'd stopped breathing.

He wondered if it really mattered.

Pictures lined the display, some sun-faded, some splotched with rain. Eager faces looked hollow amidst crinkled iris petals. Crucifixes and small treasures littered the shrine.

"They're all children," Ororo whispered.

Children. Young faces of boys and girls ready for school, for a weekend out with their mom or dad, for a new puppy, for birthday cakes, for the circus, for ice cream in the park, for running and playing tag and doing everything normal kids would do on the best day of their life.

Or the last.

 _"No, no, no…."_ Peter whispered. A list of names. Forty-two on one table alone; he memorized them before Ororo finished reading the first column.

Abby, Marshall, Robin, Clara, Madeline, Donald, Laurence, Bobby, Dale, Justin, Kara, Molly, Janice, Juanita, Shaun, Lukas, Deepali, Asya, Michael, Holly, Earnest, Francis, James, Elwin, Adele, Chloe, Dinah, Jacques, Pollyanna, Surya, Colby, Heather, Ashley, Delun, Kyle, Joseph, Yuri, Hannah, Chad, Teuchi, Albert, Hans, Abothi.

Forty-two kids killed in the earthquake that had shattered countries across the globe. From the news reports, Peter knew there were thousands more.

Reeling, he searched until he saw another table four blocks down. He flashed between civilians, normal people too numb to notice one more shrine, and saw another, and a fourth, and then three more, countless tables and fences and sidewalks filled with dying flowers and memories. Grandparents, fathers, mothers, toddlers, kids who were just learning arithmetic, young men and women hoping for a future career and a family.

He shuddered before the fifty-third memorial. Gone. Faces swarmed in his mind. Too fast. Too many.

Magneto had killed them all.

 _No, no, Dad, please no…._

He never thought about the people inside the buildings Magneto wrenched apart. Some random thought must have convinced him that he and the mutants would be the only casualties if they failed. He never realized….

"You're one of them."

The croaked statement dragged him into time again. He looked at the grey buildings and blaring cars, lost for the first time. He didn't even remember leaving Ororo.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" the voice repeated.

Peter looked up dazedly, finally noticing the man watching him from the edge of the shrine He was dressed in a business suit, dark hair mussed, eyes red and weary, an orange lily wilting in his hand. Reverently the man placed the flower beside the picture of a gap-toothed girl.

"Are you satisfied now?" the man said in a dull rasp. "Are we conquered enough?"

"I…." Peter's throat closed in. He wanted to run; to leave the monuments and their contents and pretend Apocalypse had never happened. It was just him and his dad, there wasn't ever any killing, Magneto wouldn't do that, Mom was wrong she was wrong about everything and they could just leave Westchester now and he'd stay in the car for hours if he needed to but no one would ever know that….

"Brigitta," the man choked. "Her name was Brigitta. She was five. I … Marge and I were on our way to her school choir performance when the custodian called. The building just…."

The man shuddered, breathing in just to _not cry_ , but Peter could see the tears he was trying to hide, concealing his weakness from a mutant, from _one of them_.

Agony lashed into action and in a blink Peter knew what would happen; saw the man reach down; calculated how many cities he could cross before there was bloodshed.

He couldn't move.

Copper blurred in the man's hand, pain flashed into hatred on his face, and all Peter could think was _Professor Professor Professor_ because he wanted to call for his dad, he wanted to so badly, but Magneto would kill them all and he couldn't be responsible for that, not for more kids like Brigitta and Nallie and Vincent and Andy, not another Washington D.C., not En Sabah Nur all over again, and then the brick was moving towards him and he knew he should step out of the way, that this was going to hurt, that he had all the time in the world and he just had to move an inch and everything would be okay, but all he could do was watch as it crawled towards his forehead and then the man looked scared like he hadn't actually meant it and Peter realized he _really_ should have moved sooner but it was too late to run, too late to do anything but hope someone would catch him, someone that wasn't his dad, someone who wouldn't hurt other people because his kid got hurt by a stupid hater with a bad aim...

Then pavement blurred in his vision and he didn't think about anything.

* * *

In the middle of promoting his pawn to knight (Erik would have chosen queen), Charles stuttered and almost capsized the opposing rook.

"Really, Charles," Erik said as he righted his wobbling castle. "Are you so distracted that – "

"Peter."

One word.

Flicking his king aside, Erik rolled to his feet and yanked the door open with a command. He slid on the helmet, ignoring Charles' dismay. "Where is he?"

"You're not going," Charles said quietly. Erik could already picture the telepath's mental route; predict when Kurt would flash into the room.

"What are you talking about?" he growled. "I'm going after my son."

He dreaded the possibilities. En Sabah Nur had returned from the dead. William Stryker had found a new lab pet. Peter had run into a crumbling building and miscalculated. The kid had forgotten his sack lunch.

He hoped it was something as simple as the latter.

He knew he was wrong.

"I can't let you interfere this time," Charles said as Kurt materialized behind his wheelchair. "I'm sorry. I promise I'll – "

The dang teleporter was smart. Before Charles could finish and Magneto could drag the wheelchair towards him, blue and black spiraled and he was left behind.

To worry and wonder alone.

Cursing, Erik flung a hand into the chess board. Wood splintered against the wall and pieces scattered. Casting the queen aside, he squeezed his eyes shut and calculated. Ororo had left on her own at eleven in the morning. Charles had insisted Peter go after her. He would have rendezvoused in less than two minutes. Three hours past, at a casual pace for Ororo (now that she wasn't running from shopkeepers), allowing for Peter's snacking and Storm's affinity for shiny objects, they might have covered six miles in any direction. The most logical assumption would be the mall – all young folk congregated there – but thrice now Peter had mentioned a certain pizza parlor he enjoyed; the one right next to a homeless dog shelter.

Charles would be there in seconds. It would take Erik fifteen minutes by the crow's flight.

Time enough to evaluate the lingering damage.

* * *

He followed the police sirens. The crowds. The shaking, babbling voice echoing regret.

"I didn't mean to – he was just a kid – I didn't want to hurt him, l swear! I – I never wanted to – oh, Marge is never going to forgive me…."

Soundlessly Erik approached. The throng parted before him, fear shaking those who recognized Magneto's helmet. The officers retreated, brandishing their guns, wise enough not to shoot. In their midst, a man in a rumpled business suit raised his head.

"You're the one," he said quietly. "I should've known." Sighing, he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt the kid. He was never responsible."

Erik followed his gaze to a chipped brick. Flecks of scarlet dotted the pavement.

The memorial table folded into itself.

"Then it's by your own admission," Erik said coldly as he raised his hand.

Wretched grey eyes rose to meet his, and the man raised his head. "Finish your tally, then." A crinkled photo slid to the pavement. "Seems we're all disposable to you freaks, anyways."

For an instant Erik hesitated. The photo turned in the wind. A dimpled smile framed by copper locks. Cheer and safety clinched in the eyes of a five-year-old.

A daughter.

He almost relented.

Then his eyes settled on the brick. The image of burgundy streaks in silver gripped his mind and he saw brown eyes filled with adoration, now murky with confusion and pain. He had held the boy after En Sabah Nur crippled him. Never again. They would rue the day they harmed Magneto's son. Every human from this day forth would honor the silver prince.

Picture frames rattled and shredded. Lethal shards shivered mid-air, prepared to silence the officers and those they protected. A woman screamed and huddled over her toddler.

"Magneto, stop!"

Unfaltering, Erik spread his hands. Dainty, razor thin threads hovered above his palms. He could envision Charles' rebuke: the same haunted, pleading _look_ as though the telepath hoped that one day it would be enough to change the world forever.

Charles would always be one step behind.

A shout too late. An impression of similar incidents; the appeal to his compassion, and Charles' ultimate failure.

 _I won't lose another child,_ Erik vowed.

Just as he raised his arms to punish mankind, petite arms wound around his neck and bony knees jabbed his sides. Concentration shattered, he wrenched aside and yanked the perpetrator from his back. Storm swung into the fall, irises glowing white as the air crackled around them.

"Enough!" Erik shouted. He analyzed swiftly, choosing between the folding table and the storm grate to hold her back. The table would do.

Air fizzled behind him, jarring him before he could retaliate. Whirling, he thrust Nightcrawler away, snagging the mutant's belt buckle and bolting him into the folds of a taxicab. Another shove propelled Storm across the street. One more distraction. One more –

"That's enough!"

The solid _whack_ from behind sent him skidding. Metal shards plinked harmlessly, and one of the humans howled in fear.

Dazed, Erik straightened to meet his adversary. Charles scowled up at him like a furious puppy, bracing a basswood plank for a second attack.

"Don't stop me," Erik growled low. "Not this time."

"It's always been _this time_ , hasn't it?" Charles lashed. "Every time you feel threatened you kill hundreds more. When is this going to end, Erik?"

Clenching his fists, Erik looked from the professor to the huddle of humans. Jean stepped between them, crimson glowing in her hands, while Nightcrawler flashed out of his yellow prison.

Blue eyes were taciturn with disappointment as Charles cast the plank aside. Solemnly he shook his head. "What did you expect me to tell Peter when you're finished?"

Raggedly Erik inhaled.

 _"_ _You're not really that scary,"_ the kidhad remarked just the other day. " _I mean, when you're dropping metal on people it's pretty terrifying, but that's why I'm here…."_

Stepping back, Erik measured the devastation. Fear and hatred resonated in the faces around him. Cameras flashed as reporters formulated their articles for the evening news.

The wind gusted, and a crinkled photograph settled at his feet.

He buried his face in his hands.

* * *

"It's the shock," Hank said, all but shooing Erik away from the bedside. "He has a minor concussion; nothing I can't handle."

"He isn't responding," Erik said haggardly, moving in as soon as Hank turned his back. Smoothing silver bangs aside, he gripped one clammy hand and squeezed, commanding a reaction. A bruise was already swelling under the stained bandage. He wished he had broken the man's leg.

"Your hovering isn't helping," Hank chastised. Sighing, he grabbed a bowl and thrust it towards Erik. "He's going to be nauseous when he wakes."

"How bad is it?" Erik insisted. Peter's eyebrows twitched and drew inward. His legs spasmed.

"It looks worse than it is," Hank paused to assure. "Head wounds are little monsters. His pupils are responding to light, and Charles was able to get a few words out of him before he passed out again. I think this is the first time he's had an injury besides the leg."

"What did he say?" Dread and curiosity darkened his tone.

Hank's eyes flickered to the side. "He asked Charles not to tell you what happened."

The curtain rod snapped and Hank cursed. "You're not assuring _me_ for that matter." He moved to shoo Erik out; a snarling tiger in glasses and a lab coat. "Come back when you're able to control yourself. You're only going to distress him more."

"I'm fine!" Erik snapped. Gritting his teeth, he inhaled raggedly and forced calmness into his voice. "I'm fine, Hank. I won't disturb him; I promise."

"Yeah, I've heard that before," Hank muttered.

"He's my son," Erik said thickly. "He'll _want_ me here."

Hank's skepticism was a brutal twist in his gut. He opened his mouth to protest and then flinched. Erik suspected a losing argument with Charles was to blame when Hank turned on his heel, busying himself in the adjacent room.

"Fine," the blue mutant called back. "But if he wakes and seems distressed, you leave."

Erik settled in, flipping open _Experimental Psychology_ in one hand, never releasing his son's thrumming fingers. The kid's pulse was as fast as a hummingbird's wings. Little wonder he couldn't be still, even while unconscious.

He was so young for his age. So lost in his strange, fleeting world. _Did you always wonder about your father?_ Erik considered. _Was there anyone to take that place?_ He imagined a little boy with grey hair, who raced sunbeams and wondered why the birds couldn't keep up. _Did the other children taunt you? Did they push you around? You who could outrun a hurricane; did you ever have a friend?_

He should have been there. He could have ignored Magda's infidelity; sought her out amongst the humans; learned if there was _anything_ left to tie them together.

But Erik knew his own pride. His derision. His burning anger for those who betrayed his people.

Only Peter had given him incentive to hold back, and even that bond had been tested. He had almost murdered for the boy's sake. He would do so again.

Hatred had consumed him since childhood.

Just as the cabinet handles began to curdle and the curtain rod twisted another loop, a soft murmur quelled his bitter thoughts. Erik snapped the book closed and leaned closer, gently shaking Peter's hand.

"Hey, Kid…." _Come on, you've been twitching long enough, and those dang limbs can't possibly be still for much longer._ "Peter," he commanded softly, "Enough lazing around. You're the one who's supposed to be vexing Hank by now."

"I won't take that as an encouragement," Hank called from the other room.

Huffing, Erik jiggled Peter's hand again, squeezing it twice for emphasis. At last the creased brow eased and slits of brown glittered.

"Hey," Erik murmured.

Blinking agitatedly, Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "M'not gonna puke… that'd be awful."

At least he could have given the human a swollen forehead to match his son's. "Hank says you have a concussion," Erik said, setting the basin near Peter's head. "No roadrunner demonstrations for a few days."

"Cool," Peter agreed too readily. "The bumblebees in my head are doing all the running for me."

Erik pressed a hand against the kid's forehead. Just in case.

Peter faltered as though he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted coddling when nausea was associated. Finally he turned into the pressure and peered up at Erik. "Y'din' float away this time."

Against all reason, Erik chuckled. "Still punching En Sabah Nur, huh?"

Confusion fled into dismay, and he watched the liveliness fade into quiet _nothing_. Alarmed, Erik leaned closer. "Easy, Kid. He's gone. No one's going to hurt you."

Moisture blinked into brown orbs and Peter looked away, fumbling to speak. "Did you… did you…." He trembled, gnawing his lip, and finally shoved out, "Did you kill him?"

The ugly blade twisted his insides again. He wondered how Nina would have responded, had she known.

Perhaps this was fate's turnaround for his revenge.

"No," Erik whispered, grateful Charles had been dogmatic enough to track him down once more. Where he would be without that stupid, stubborn telepath…. "I didn't kill anyone. Not even a scratch."

The silver mutant nodded. His eyes drifted lower, and Erik could see the shutters closing; blocking out everything but…..

"Hank."

A tumbling clatter and the mutant was at his side, coaxing Peter with questions and a lightly snapping finger. Agitatedly Peter turned away into the pillow, avoiding the noise, and then … settled.

Quiet. Still. Complacent.

"I'm getting Charles," Hank said brusquely, and in that moment Erik knew.

Whatever future he had built around himself and his son was falling into human hands. Just like Nina.

Like Anya.

The fates truly reviled his legacy.

* * *

"Peter," Charles coaxed. Erik could imagine the word resounding in the boy's head.

"He's not responding to me," Charles said after a pause.

"Is there any brain activity?" Hank questioned. He was pulling out the light again, and Erik wanted to slap it away. The damage wasn't permanent. He wouldn't allow it.

 _Come on, Kid._

"There's plenty of activity: that's the problem," Charles said, pursing his brow.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Erik snapped.

"I'm getting … images." Charles flinched, pressing a hand to his temple. "Stop…. Peter…."

Erik was already halfway to his feet. "What is it?"

"He's panicking," Charles said with another cringe. "There are faces – I can't track them all; his mind is too fast. I think they're children."

Children. The pictures. Erik fell back into the chair.

Exhausted, Charles pulled away. "You know what he's seen."

Of course Charles recognized the memorials. He knew who was responsible for thousands of names.

And yet, in Peter's same childish way, he unerringly forgave the murderer.

If there was one man Erik would have trusted to raise Peter, it would have been Charles. Somehow his son had instinctively made the link.

"He… blames me," Erik established quietly.

"Not exactly..." Charles' tone was ever gentle. "He sees himself… rescuing them. If he had chosen _not_ to confront En Sabah Nur."

Erik's throat closed in as he tried to imagine such a burden. To believe one could have saved the entire world, and that from the man who was implicitly trusted as _Father_ ….

"What can you do?" Erik asked haggardly. He tried to hold back the waver in his voice; the certainty that this was the end. His absence would be the only assurance for Peter now. He could watch from afar, but that infallible, precious trust would never belong to him again.

He already missed his boy.

"Don't do this, Erik," Charles urged, and Erik wondered if the telepath had read his mind, or if his thoughts were so open now that prodding was redundant. "He needs you here. There's still faith underneath all that confusion. Don't shatter it."

"Haven't I already?" Erik whispered.

Wordlessly Charles took Peter's hand and tucked it into Erik's. There was no reaction from the silver mutant, but Charles insisted, "He can still feel the outer world, Erik. He calms whenever you're near."

He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't disappoint himself when he proved Charles wrong. It was impossible for anyone to have that much trust. If a warped sense of dependency was the only affection Peter had offered all these months, then Erik he didn't want it. A caged bird was only a prisoner.

Even so, he stayed. Until his back ached and he waved dinner aside. Until he felt as sleepless and aching and lonesome as the nights after Anya died.

And then, hours into the dawn, he realized he hadn't tried everything.

With trembling hands he tucked Peter in, dimmed the light, and retreated to Charles' study.

An open phonebook. Twenty minutes of hesitation. The heated, internal debate of anger and justification.

Finally he dialed.


	2. Chapter 2

"You might have warned the school ahead of time," Charles censured moments before the doorbell rang. Of course he felt _her_ enter the school grounds.

Folding his arms, Erik inspected the chipped paint on the lowest corner of the doorframe. "Didn't think you'd need an army to escort her inside."

"It might have been preferable," Charles drawled. He took a heavy breath, readying a welcoming smile as heavy heels approached. Before the door could swing open he was wheeling forward with an extended hand. "Mrs. Maximoff, I presume. I'm Charles Xa –"

Crisp hazel eyes overlooked the professor as a brunette swept into the room. Time had favored little, but Erik knew her at once.

"Magda."

She didn't bother to correspond, save with an underlying frantic accusation. "Would you tell me where my son is?"

" _Our_ son," Erik corrected.

Hazel eyes blazed, and Erik wondered where Peter had learned kindness. "You never had that right."

"I had _every_ right," Erik contradicted. "Did you tell him _I_ walked away? Or did you tell him how you left your daughter burning and ran because you couldn't stand a mutant being related to your son – "

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare bring Anya into this!" Magda's voice rose to a shout. "If you hadn't shown off with those dastardly freak shows none of this – "

"Now, wait – " Charles began.

"Is that what you told Peter?" Erik shouted. The grandfather clock crashed onto the floor. Charles pressed a hand against his brow. "Is that how you raised him; thinking his gift was an abomination?"

"I tried to protect him!" Magda retaliated. "After you killed the president, you think they would have allowed my children any chance of normalcy?"

"So you locked him away and made him believe he was a threat!" Erik surmised.

"Don't you even think of accusing me." She rose on tiptoe to match his height, fearless as lamps and bookends crashed around the study. "I gave everything to my children. If you had been there five minutes you would have known – "

"I had been there? If _I_ had been there? Twenty-seven years you hid him away, and now you have the effrontery to –"

"If there had been any reason at all to trust you, _Magneto_ ," she spat the name as a curse, "I would have given you custody if you asked! But no, I get stuck hiding three brats because you convinced the world they were duplicitous monsters – "

"Enough!" He grabbed her by the arms and for an instant fear glimmered in her eyes.

Immediately Charles' voice rang in his mind, " _Stand down!"_

Erik's arms were flung to his sides and Magda fell back, staggering in open-mouthed bewilderment.

 _"I'm only going to say this once!"_ Charles growled. _"You can visit Peter on peaceable terms, or you can leave the academy with your pride intact. I will not have another disaster in my halls."_

Gritting his teeth, Erik forced politeness into a rigid, taciturn response. "We're finished."

" _I'm_ through here," Magda said coolly. She gripped her purse strap; a familiar nervous habit.

 _"Don't start this again,"_ Charles warned. Furiously Magda looked away.

 _"I'm only allowing this because Peter needs it,"_ Charles continued. _"If the two of you can't behave, Hank will be justly inclined to throw you out – that includes you, Erik."_

"Try it," Erik challenged.

 _"Fine. You can pick up the parts for my clock on your way back to Poland."_

It was a low blow, cruel and acerbic, and it diluted his temper like a splash from the roof.

" _And you, Magda,"_ Charles said coolly, _"I doubt Wanda will be pleased to know you refused to see her brother because of an ancient feud."_

Raising her chin, Magda tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Whenever you're ready, Professor Xavier. _I'll_ behave."

Erik refused her the dignity of a glance. "We're through here."

"I'm sure," Charles said dubiously. He glanced between them and nodded. "Very well. But if you disturb Hank's patient, I won't be responsible for the results. Now then, if you will follow me..."

For the first time since Erik had known her, as she followed the professor into a school of mutants, Magda looked vulnerable and completely alone.

* * *

"If this was like Jean's episodes I'd say he'd be fine in a few hours," Hank explained as he escorted Charles inside. "Her mind is – _infinite_ – in comparison, but – "

"The speed, yes," Charles agreed. At Magda's befuddled expression he clarified, "Peter's mind is extraordinarily fast. He's having a difficult time resolving the shock of a head injury, I expect."

He was numbing the blow for a worried mother, and in turn minimalizing Magneto's involvement. Compassionate without fault.

Magda didn't wait for further elucidation. "Peter…." A horrified murmur and she settled onto the bed beside him, drawing the still, silver head into her lap. Possession burned in Erik's chest and the radiator whistled mournfully.

"Get out," Magda snapped. She wrapped an arm around Peter, claiming her own, and the pipes snapped.

"Erik!"

His legs froze under Charles' command. Bucking the pressure he snarled, "He's my son."

"She's his mother."

Stupefied, Erik swung to face the telepath. "You're giving him to her?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Charles moaned, "Erik, she raised him for twenty-seven years whereas you only became acquainted six months ago. Please, use _logic_ for once."

Hazel eyes lit in triumph as Magda settled against the headboard. Suddenly tender, she carded her fingers through Peter's hair and rhythmically clasped his hand. _One, two, three, four, five…._ Erik could almost tune it with the flittering heartbeat. He wanted to ask her if this was how she calmed the kid after a sugar rush. He wanted to bolt her in Charles' study until Peter was safely tucked away in Poland.

He ground his feet, listening to the door hinges curl, and forced himself to do nothing.

"Sweetie, time to get up," Magda whispered, leaning in with a familiarity that curdled Erik's stomach. "Turn it all off now. It's just you and me."

"She's encountered this before," Charles murmured.

Little wonder, with a boy who had memorized Calculus because someone left a textbook in the basement. How often had Peter overloaded his mind since he first began to wonder?

How much Erik could have learned with him, if he had only known.

"Peter," Magda cajoled, "Turn it off. No more busy nonsense bouncing around in your head. Just focus on me. Can you hear me, sweetheart?"

A long, deliberate blink. Erik stepped forward and was hindered by Hank's grip.

Surreptitiously Charles raised a hand to his temple and communicated for both Erik and Magda to hear, _"Peter, your mother is here."_

Clarity in brown eyes lanced like a shower of falling glass. Like the drone of a teenager's persistence. _"Whadja do, man? Whadja doooo?"_ Like the ripple of curiosity when Erik had first heard of a woman who had known a man who could control metal. Like the refined familiarity when he saw the boy standing beside Mystique. Like the scream that tormented his nights. Like the shy smile of a son who was finally recognized. Like the confidence of a child tucked in his father's arms. Like the veer of a car influenced by dread. Like the thrill of a father as his son was called up for first prize.

Like the shattering of a perfect dream, as Erik shook off the fantasy and woke to a drab, weary world.

"Mom?" Peter's voice cracked and he frowned, nearly cross-eyed with concentration. "I thought you were in Cleveland."

Magda laughed. Strange that Erik had forgotten her teasing wit. "Where on earth did you get that idea?"

"You were yelling…." Peter scowled. "Last time you did that Lorna's mom was dropping her off."

Steel jaded hazel eyes and Magda's jaw set. "We agreed never to discuss that again."

"Yeah, but…." Dark eyes blurred with confusion and Peter rubbed the bandage on his forehead. "Ow."

"Don't mind it, baby," Magda soothed, tugging his hand away. "Someone was just being stupid again."

Just being _stupid?_ As though a threat to their child was a simple misdirection of the morning post. Erik focused on uprooting the floorboard nails by the cabinet.

"Does the bruise look awesome?" Peter mumbled, picking at the bandage again. "Dad chased that guy away. He's good at that. Did I tell you I punched En Sabah Nur? Dad chased him away, too. He didn't kill him, of course. That's 'cause I'm here."

"He's going to be fine," Hank huffed, rolling his eyes. He tucked the flashlight into his pocket, cast his notes on a nearby desk, and retreated to his laboratory.

Erik stared.

 _"He's quite the character, isn't he?"_ Charles considered. _"A few distractions and he's good as new."_

That wasn't possible. He wouldn't torment himself with fabricated hopes.

Quietly Erik turned to leave.

"You're coming home with me," he heard Magda say, and he almost flung the door aside to remind her that Peter was twenty-seven and plenty old enough to make his own decisions.

The kid would always be faster than his old man.

"You said you wanted me out of that basement twenty years ago," Peter objected.

"That was sarcasm – "

"And it's so much more awesome here – they've got like fifty floors, and if I get bored there's one spot in the training room where you just add a little extra wax and everyone goes sliding and the professor doesn't catch me since it's mostly wiped away after Beast goes through, although he probably heard that so I'm in trouble now but he doesn't get mad – I don't think he knows how – except he did shout in my head once but that's because I was messing with Scott's goggles and I guess that's potentially hazardous material but I swear that's the only time I did it – and besides I just convinced Dad to listen to Pink Floyd which is really weird if you think about it seeing as he couldn't even figure out a Walkman but we're going to a concert next week and …. _Owww_ …."

The tangle of words ended in a lightheaded speedster and a longsuffering Magda holding his head over a basin.

"Mind the concussion," Erik chastised on instinct.

Magda glanced up in perturb, and Peter groaned.

"Mom versus a dad," he complained.

 _"You were on your way out?"_ Charles mentioned with just a hint of cheek.

Erik glowered. _"You think I'm leaving him alone with_ _ **her**_ _?"_

Somebody had to ground the kid whenever he raided gas stations.

Retreating from the sick room, Erik leaned against the wall and massaged the back of his neck.

He and the kid needed a long talk.

There would be words enough with Magda later.

* * *

"I don't want you taking responsibility for him." Magda's ire might have tapered, but twenty-seven years of bitterness lay between them. "What was I supposed to tell him when you nearly murdered the president – _again?_ "

"Don't bring the past into this."

"He was seventeen," Magda emphasized. "He was too scared to leave the basement for months. You think this was easy for us? He was already ostracized without you putting his face on the police scanners."

"It was _Charles_ who dragged him along and that was _ten_ years ago," Erik said testily. "If Mystique's account is correct, you discouraged him from leaving the house for the last decade."

"I wanted him to lead his own life. He only came here because he saw you," Magda interjected.

Erik stilled.

"On the news," Magda huffed. "Big blue mutant? Four freaks trailing after him? I'm amazed he has any regard for you. You think that – "

"Magda," Erik said low in his throat. The window frames began to rattle.

"I'm not finished," she whispered, looking around as though Charles might overhear and intervene. "You think that because you're the mighty Magneto, then all mutants are destined to have a perfect life? He can't go to school. He can't even get a job at a factory because no one trusts a mutant too fast for the cameras. I've had police hammering on my door every week and he hasn't stolen so much as a comic book in ten years! Every public vandalism, petty theft, armed robbery or arson and they come after my son demanding an alibi. You wouldn't believe what they've accused him of! This school is the first good thing that's ever happened to him and you are not destroying his future again!"

She ran out of words, furiously dragging a hand across her eyes. She needn't have spoken.

For the first time since Erik had met her; for the first time since she ran while he held Anya's cooling body; for the first time since she denied him before a score of armed men:

For the first time in twenty-seven years, Magda lost control for the sake of a mutant. For her son.

"That's why I'm here," Erik said softly. Strange that at the height of her accusations he would feel compassion.

Magda scoffed, a broken cry, and Erik saw a woman who had lost her daughter. He wondered if his love would have shattered the same, had she survived Nina.

No. They were nothing alike.

Even so, he knew this pain.

"I am here for Peter," Erik assured just above a whisper. "Whatever happened in the past. Your past. Mine. We're here now. Both of us."

Magda threw back her head and laughed. "And what are _we_ , Erik? A human and the mutant who threw the world into mass panic." Her voice twisted in shame. "He doesn't deserve that."

On instinct, without the persistence of Charles nagging in his head, he moved. Wrapping his arms around her as though she was Raven trying to discover herself. Ignoring the slap as though she was Angel, poor Angel, torn between the Brotherhood and those she had betrayed. Holding; reassuring; as though she was Peter, insecure and unnoticed for too long, wishing there was someone to tell him he was remarkable.

She fought him, and then cried. Long and harsh, cursing him and clinging to him and imploring him why.

Why her children couldn't be normal. Why the world would never heed them as a blessing. Why she was cursed to be alone. Why he had never chased her down, like he did when they were young and naïve, when she laughed and he pursued and together they believed in destiny.

He enfolded her and wished it was _then_ , before the Brotherhood and Shaw and En Sabah Nur, and _now_ , with a genius boy and a hopeful future and years of perspective behind them.

When Magda ran out of tears she lingered, and Erik remembered the nights when they would simply hold one another for hours. No words. No passion. Only comfort, soothing the memories of barbed fences and the stench of death.

His love had never understood such terrors. He had forgotten how much he craved Magda's companionship.

Shuddering a sigh, Magda finally pulled away. She rubbed her arms, pushing aside Erik's hand when he moved forward.

"Stop… I can't…. I…." Clarity was smudged in hazel and she dazedly shook her head. "Just stop," she whispered, shoving past him. She tripped on the threshold, almost dropping her purse. She didn't look back.

Erik stared into the empty hall for a long time.

* * *

"So she finally stopped bugging me about coming home," Peter said a few days later, after the bandage on his forehead had evolved into a 'cool but disgusting' scab. "I mean, she wanted me out of the house anyways and she's glad I finally got a job – I guess mail carrier is actually a vocation here; all this time I thought the professor was just getting me out of Hank's hair – or fur, I guess. Is it hair if it's blue? I told Mom that Wanda should check this place out, but I guess college and all – she doesn't have time. I could run her over here, though. I bet she and Jean would get along. They're both red-haired and prone to scaring people. Do you think Lorna would crush on Scott? Cause I'd hate that, but she really wants to visit sometime."

"How does he do it?" Erik murmured to Charles as the speedster rattled along, completely ignorant of the emptying ho-ho box as Kurt scarfed down his rival's spoils.

"I think he distracts Peter," Charles assessed, struggling to maintain a serious expression.

"Not the blue kid." Erik nodded his chin indicatively. "Him."

"How does he…?" Charles glanced over expectantly. Of course he already knew.

"Forget," Erik stated.

Smiling faintly, Charles suggested, "I don't think he can. All it takes is a willingness to forgive."

Sighing deeply, Erik leaned against the balcony railing and watched the kid realize his stolen treasures; an indignation which escalated into a furious chase down the side of the building and across the lawn.

"Do you want to know how he moves on so quickly?" Charles offered mischievously. "I could show you. It's quite fascinating."

 _I shouldn't intrude,_ Erik considered. He shrugged. "Why not."

"Mind you, it _is_ rather dizzying," Charles warned, right before he touched his brow and Erik fell into a whirl of sounds and images.

 _Kurt I'm going to kill you those were mine why does he move so slow and I still can't catch him how does that even work I'm so spinning him around in a chair until he walks into a wall that was funny when Hank slipped I wonder why his fur is blue but his hair is brown it isn't fair that his hair is normal I wonder if he could teach me how to change my mutation like that I should get a popsicle Kurt owes me one now since he ate my snacks do I like grape or orange better or maybe it's cherry I need another stick for the mansion model anyways maybe I'll try all three I bet Dad would give me one too I wonder if he likes popsicles maybe he'd feed one to the dog why can't we get a dog maybe he hates them but he likes Tauntaun so maybe that's his dog and he doesn't like to share why can't the professor convince him that two dogs are better than one I bet they could totally rule the mansion kinda like ferrets hey that ugly blue dude was like a ferret I'm gonna punch his face out if I ever see him again kinda like Kurt right now you are so dead stay put for once and gimme back my ho-ho's….._

Erik heaved a breath and coughed, gasping when he was finally released. "A dog?" That's why the kid had been nagging him about a pizza parlor all this time?

Charles sniggered. "Would it be too dreadfully ironic if I told you that he wants a German Shepherd."

Erik calmly dented the footrest of his wheelchair.

Glaring halfheartedly, Charles told him, "I told you he has an uncanny mind."

"Uncanny," Erik repeated in bemusement.

"Try keeping him under control for twenty hours of the day," Charles deadpanned. "I know he was the one who waxed the training floors. He only sleeps fifteen minutes at a time. I can't possibly keep up."

"I don't envy your mutation," Erik stated.

"Sticking around then?" In private Charles questioned, _"You do intend to stay, don't you? No matter what Magda says, what Peter needs right now is his father."_

"Yeah," Erik agreed, rubbing one hand along the railing. He thought of impish brown eyes and hair like the soft chestnut of a sparrow's wings. Magda was right; he had endangered his children too much.

It was time for Magneto to rest among the legends.

Erik Lehnsherr had a legacy to protect.

* * *

.

.

.

* * *

 _ **Note:** In anticipation of future questions, I will add that this is not the end of Magda's story. Reconciliation is never achieved overnight; she and Erik both need time to settle their grudges._


End file.
